| You ought to see deacon Jones
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| When he rattles the bones,
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| Old parson Brown foolin' 'roun like a clown,
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| Aunt Jemima who is past eighty three,
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| Shoutin' «I'm full o' pep!
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| Watch yo' step!, watch yo' step!
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| One legged Joe danced aroun' on his toe,
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| Threw away his crutch and hollered, «let 'er go!»
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| Oh, honey, hail! |
| hail! |
| the gang’s all here
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| For an Alabama jubilee
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| Mandolins, violins,
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| Hear the darkies tunin' up, the fun begins,
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| Come this way, don’t delay,
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| Better hurry, honey dear, or you’ll be missin'
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| Music sweet, rag-time treat,
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| Goes right to your head and trickles to your feet,
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| It’s a reminder, a memory finder
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| Of nights down in old Alabam'.
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| Hear that flute, it’s a beaut,
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| And the tunes it’s tootin', tootsie, ain’t they cute?
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| Let’s begin, it’s a sin,
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| To be missin' all this syncopated music!
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| Oh, you Jane, once again
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| Give your legs some exercise to that refrain,
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| Boy, that’s what makes me so dreamy and takes me Back home to my old Alabam'. |